


breathing through the burn

by butterflyweb



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Episode Tag, Episode: s03e15 Hookman, Gen, Pre-Slash, but i needed it out of my head, it's been done i know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-16
Updated: 2016-04-16
Packaged: 2018-06-02 16:27:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6573550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/butterflyweb/pseuds/butterflyweb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>There really isn’t anything else to say at this point, not that he hasn’t said a hundred times, til he’s blue in the face, even. Steve will just give garbage excuses and Danny will foam at the mouth, until Steve ends up with a defiant tilt to his chin and a insincere apology to wiggle his way out of it. Then he’ll show up at HQ with coffee and an invite to watch the Jets this weekend and Danny will cave. Of course he’ll cave. He loves the stupid son of a bitch, isn’t that the whole </i>point?</p>
            </blockquote>





	breathing through the burn

**Author's Note:**

> Okay. So. First fic in Hawaii Five O, first in a _while_ , good lord. I'd love to hear feedback or if there would be any interest in continuation. Mostly this is self-indulgent because I can just not get past Danny and Steve at the end of this episode. I CAN'T. 
> 
> Hopefully, enjoy!

“You were worried about me?” he says, with that smug, asshole smirk of his. Like this is a game, like Danny’s being a big girl’s blouse, a mother hen, a punch line to some long-running joke.

A joke, that’s what this is to Steve. Playing chicken with a sniper, a sharpshooter who’s taken down three cops, who’s firing bullets with McGarrett’s goddamn name on them. Oh sure, call him on it and it’ll be all noble and brave and ‘just doing what needed to be done’. All of that stupid military machismo that Danny’s sick up to his back teeth with. As if he’s never been in a sniper situation before. As if he doesn’t have fifteen years on the job under his belt, as if his experience means nothing in the face of Steve’s pathological need to be a hero. And yeah, the lack of respect grates on him, gets under his skin like little pins and needles, but he can deal with that. He can deal because yeah, okay, Steve is his boss, in the end he calls the shots. Danny knows something about the chain of command, okay, even if he doesn’t like it.

But this? This he cannot take.

“Worried about you? I was worried about my car,” Danny bites out, grip still too tight on his Mark 18.

Again with that smirk. “I’m touched,” Steve volleys back, like this is any other disagreement. Like it’s some squabble over a radio station or who’s buying the beer, Chin and Kono at his side shooting each other  knowing looks, and Danny can’t take it anymore. He is officially _done._

“Touched? Touched in the _head_ ,” he spits out, “you are _touched_ by something I cannot explain.” He can’t dial back on the meanness in his tone, the venom. Hell, he doesn’t _want_ to, and out of the corner of his eye, he sees the amused look slide off Kono’s face. “And just so you know, there are a lot of things on this planet that I am worried about, and losing you in a combat situation is _not_ one of them.”

 _Losing you._ Danny swallows thickly, turning away from the wounded look on Steve’s face, Chin and Kono’s silence, and all but flees the scene at a fast clip.

Because that’s what it all comes down to, isn’t it? One of these days, one of these times, Steve’s not going to hit the ground and bounce. He’s going to stay there, broken and bleeding and _gone_ and it’s going to be something Danny never recovers from, he knows that as _fact._ He feels the shadow of it with every bullet graze, every reckless decision, every near miss. Halawa. Korea. Christ, even the ever-loving _Aloha Girls trip._ And every time, it steals away a little more of him, chokes him, like a dry-drowning. And the stupid _prick_ has the nerve to act like it’s all some lark, some routine of theirs, just going through the motions.

Danny rubs a thumb absently over a two-inch long scrape in the Camero’s paint job, eyes closed as he attempts to drawn on whatever reserves of patience he has left. It’s a pretty shallow well. He yanks open the driver’s side door and slides into the seat, digging his spare keys out of his pocket. Danny adjusts the seat, the mirrors, draws the belt over his chest and listens to it click. He considers for a long moment simply driving off and leaving Steve’s ass here.

Before he can decide either way, the passenger door is opening and the man himself is flopping down in the seat, a vaguely shell-shocked look on his face. The rain must be picking up—rivulets of water are tracing paths from Steve’s hairline, down over that strong jaw and vulnerable neck. Danny swallows hard, turns the engine over without speaking. There really isn’t anything else to say at this point, not that he hasn’t said a hundred times, til he’s blue in the face, even. Steve will just give garbage excuses and Danny will foam at the mouth, until Steve ends up with a defiant tilt to his chin and a insincere apology to wiggle his way out of it. Then he’ll show up at HQ with coffee and an invite to watch the Jets this weekend and Danny will cave. Of course he’ll cave. He loves the stupid son of a bitch, isn’t that the whole _point?_

The thing is, it’s tired. This routine. _Danny’s_ tired.

The silence between them stretches long and thin, until they’re a half-mile from Iolani Palace and then it snaps with a sharp huff of air. Danny can feel blue-green eyes boring into his temple.

“So the silent treatment? Really? Isn’t that hurting you more than me?”  The tone is belligerent, Steve on off-footing for once and apparently not much caring for it.

Danny doesn’t rise to the bait. He’s the middle child of a loud, Irish-Italian family. He can play ‘I can’t hear you’ with the best of them.

Steve’s frustration is nearly audible, that click to his jaw he gets when he’s trying to show restraint, like his words are locked and loaded and ready to do damage on his say-so.

“Fine. Fine, whatever. But just for the record? I had everything under control.”

He can’t help the snap of his head to the side at that, glare hot enough to smite a lesser man. True to form, Steve doesn’t even flinch. No, instead, instead he scoffs, hands spread wide in front of him, a mock-plea for understanding.

“What? Jesus, Danny, what? There was no way we were going to gain any ground there, I had to clear the way for Kono to take the shot. I’m sorry I dinged up your precious car, but I’d think—“

“It’s not about the fucking car!” Danny shouts, slamming on the brakes halfway into his parking space, hard enough that both of their seatbelts go rigid.

He forces the Camero into park, gripping the gear shift like an anchor. His heart still feels like it’s doing double-time in his chest, his mouth opening and closing, half faltering speech, half gasping air.

“You can’t…”Danny swallows, speaking to the Chevy logo in the center of the wheel. “You can’t keep _doing_ this. You can’t keep playing Lone Ranger, like you’re the only one in the world who can step up, like you’re the only person…”

“Danno.”

Danny’s head comes up sharply, eyes locking with Steve’s. “No, shut up, don’t do that. Don’t try to pacify me. You have no ground, my friend, none.”

“You’re being ridiculous. I had to—“

“No! No, that’s just it, you didn’t have to! What you had to do, you dick, is take an interest in saving your own goddamn skin. The second we realized you were his target, you should’ve kept back! You should’ve let us handle it! But no, what do you do, you leave cover and run out into the street with a freaking ‘shoot me’ sign stuck to your back!”

Danny’s breath feels tight in his chest, one hand raised to stop any interjections, or just to reach out and strangle the other man, he isn’t sure which yet.

“I am your _partner_. I am your _friend_ , you absolute _asshole_. What did I ever do, huh? What did I ever do that deserves you trying your damnedest to get gunned down in front of me?”

The silence falls heavy again, Steve’s eyes wide. Stunned.

Abruptly, Danny feels exhausted. With himself, with Steve, with this entire day.

“Danny. Danny, look…”

“No,” he interjects, shaking his head , laying it back against the headrest. “Don’t. I’m just…I’m just going to take the rest of the day off, okay? I need to…I need to get my head clear. I’ll start on the paper work tomorrow morning.”

“Kono can take care of it,” Steve offers, subdued and obviously at a loss.

Another head shake. “No, she’s done enough today. It’s fine. Just keep me updated on Duke, alright?”

The words are a dismissal and Steve knows it, hesitating before giving a brief, jerky nod and reaching for the door handle. “Yeah…yeah, okay.”

He gets out of the Camero without another word and Danny shifts into reverse the second the door closes, pulling out of the space and leaving the lot without looking back.


End file.
